


Beautiful Dresses and Beautiful Men

by gnimaerd



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5850046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnimaerd/pseuds/gnimaerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iris has to attend an award ceremony, Barry has to fight a bad guy. When it’s clear that he’s not actually dead, there is celebratory sex in potentially inappropriate places. And dresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Dresses and Beautiful Men

**Author's Note:**

> Pure smut, heavily inspired by [Candice Patton’s InStyle Golden Globes party outfit](http://www.justjared.com/photo-gallery/3549264/grant-gustin-candice-patton-2016-golden-globes-party-03/).

Iris sees Barry slip inside the ballroom of Central City’s Mayoral Office just before she steps up to the podium, and feels her entire world exhale – pretends her shaking hands are nerves as she delivers her acceptance speech.

The award is for ‘services to the city’. There’s a handful of people the Mayor hands them out to every year – firemen, policemen, people who run charities or build houses for the homeless – and now, much to her own surprise, Iris, for her journalism, documenting the Flash, and other meta-humans, investigating their origins and the crimes linked to them. It’s fancy and it should be fun but all Iris cares about, in the rented dress too expensive for her to ever actually own and her grandmother’s jewelry, is the fact that Barry has been out on a mission since that afternoon and was still chasing down this months’ bad guy when she had to head to the event without him an hour ago.

There’s something awful about standing in a crowd of shiny, happy people pretending to be shiny and happy too, whilst thinking about your heart running round outside your body with a guy in a red speed suit in potentially mortal danger.

The idea of Barry out there somewhere, perhaps hurt, perhaps frightened, perhaps worse – whilst she’s in here… normally when he’s on his most dangerous missions Iris is in Star Labs talking to him. She works the coms with Cisco, and compulsively eats his candy and gauges how worried she should be by whether Cisco remembers to protest or not. She lets Caitlin hold her hand when things get scary.

But Barry had insisted she go to this dumb award ceremony whether he was out or not. No putting her life on hold because of some asshole with super powers, no missing the important stuff because of Barry’s weird stuff. 

And Iris has spent the last hour regretting letting him talk her into attending. She feels sick, she feels wrong, she wants to call Cisco to ask how it’s going but she can’t find anywhere private enough.

And then at the last possible second, Barry’s there.

His gaze stays fixed on her from the back of the room the entire time she’s stumbling through her speech (the one he helped her write at three in the morning yesterday), his smile bright and warm and genuine like there isn’t a black eye blooming across his face so large and obvious that she can see it from here.

Iris can hardly extradite herself from her cluster of well-wishers fast enough – Barry is half way toward her through the throng but she catches his eye and shakes her head. Not here. She wants – needs – him to herself for a moment.

Without nearly enough of a glance around the room to check he’s not being observed, he blinks out of existence; Iris catches the ripple of the air where he’s gone and follows mumbling something about the bathroom, award still clasped awkwardly in one sweaty hand, purse in the other –

She’s in a big old library. Or maybe it’s a hall of records or – it’s dark and cavernous, with lots of shelves and some big old tables at intervals across the floor, but this is definitely the door she saw flicker open when Barry disappeared –

“Iris.” Her name melts into a kiss and Iris throws her arms around him, squeezes tight, drops the award with a clatter – needs her hands free to touch him.  

Barry seems reassuringly intact, although Iris has to lean back to check his face, concerned fingers tracing the edges of the heavy bruise on his pale cheek.

“Are you okay?” She frames his jaw with her hands.

“Yeah,” he clasps her wrist, turns it inwards to kiss it, “told you not to worry.”

“We’ve talked about you telling me what to do.”

He laughs, and she pulls his face down to her shoulder, holding him close, because she’s not ready for him to be laughing about this just yet – she needs to worry, just a little longer; needs to let the fact that he’s safe again sink in. He presses his nose to her neck and she feels the scratch of his stubble.

“What’d they do to my baby?” She murmurs into his ear, smoothing his hair, full of the kind of tenderness that’s almost a physical ache in her chest because god – no one should be putting bruises on this sweet boy’s beautiful face.

“Nothing they didn’t come to regret,” he replies, still nuzzling at her neck. He squeezes at her a little tighter. “I’m okay, Iris. I’m sorry I was late.”

Iris lets him pull away from her so she can look into his eyes again. The bruise is  impressive, though it’ll be gone soon. It might already be fading. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I nearly missed your – thing,” he points at the award where she discarded it on the floor.

Iris shrugs. “It’s silly. It doesn’t matter, not when you’re out there – ”

“Yes it does matter,” Barry intones, firmly. “You matter, what you do matters, no one gets to devalue that. You’re as much of a hero as I am.”

Iris snorts. “When was the last time I put on a speedster suit?”

“I’ll have Cisco make you one.”

He’s trying to make her smile and that alone unwinds something in her chest, the last coils of tension finally releasing. He’s not hurt, not badly, and he’s here where she can touch him, more worried for her well-being than for his own.

“Not that you need another outfit,” Barry adds, taking a step back without quite taking his hands off her, taking her in properly with an appreciative grin. “You look incredible. I’m going to recommend that you wear that dress like – a lot.”

Iris snorts. “I rented it. I’m not making the kind of money that means I can afford this outfit. I’ve been stone cold sober all night cause I worry if I so much look at a liquid it’ll get on me somehow.”

“I will buy you this dress,” Barry touches the fine gold fabric appreciatively, “I’m not kidding.”

“Barry, you’re not making that kind of money either, trust me.” She tips forward just enough to kiss him, feather light against his brow. “Still, doesn’t mean we can’t take advantage of it while it’s on.”

His grin widens as he pulls her closer again. “Oh. Okay.”

That’s not really what she meant. But she doesn’t mind when he kisses her, not at all.

The kiss deepens and she wraps her arms around him and holds on as tight as she can, feeling the way his skin runs hot through his shirt, through her dress. She touches the tip of her tongue against the seam of his lips and he opens his mouth immediately, his hands wondering over her dress, bunching a fistful of her skirts in one hand as his other slides over her bare back.

It’s so easy, to fall into each other like this. Their first few weeks together seemed mostly to be a blur of these kinds of encounters – urgent and eager and giddy, the novelty impossible to resist; sex (and speech writing) in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep, sex in the shower in the mornings, sex on the couch before their takeout arrived, sex on lunchbreaks in the supply closet at Picture News or on the rooftop at Jitters. It had been too much fun to be sensible, so for a few weeks they’d been gross, obnoxious teenagers together. And they’d never quite lost the opportunist edge of that.

Barry is backing her up, gently, against a large, hardwood table a few feet away. Around them the library stirs and settles, aging floorboards creak beneath their feet; the rub of their clothing whispers in the dark, and distantly the hubbub of the mayor’s event rumbles on without them. Iris hears the huff and gasp of her own breath around the kiss, hears Barry’s mumble of appreciation as she pushes a thigh between his legs and presses up, just a little – adding friction where he wants it.

He hoists her onto the table with quick, careful movements. He’s deft, delicate, always has been; she likes that about him, the kind of finesse he has with those long fine fingers, the care he takes with his physicality around her. She keeps her arms around him because no – no – she’s not letting him out of her grip for even a second, not even to get his fly undone – she does it for him – crushing her mouth to his, spare hand on the back of his neck as she fumbles between them.

He’s half-hard in her hand and when she strokes, gently, he groans and drops his forehead to her shoulder. His hands are at her hips, trembling a little as he begins to push her skirts up out of the way.

Iris surfaces long enough to think in a straight line for thirty seconds. “You stain this dress you will be paying the rental place for it,” she mumbles, as he adjusts her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the table.

Barry grins, breathless, eyes bright in the dark. “Promise.”

She tips her face up to his to kiss him again, still carefully gripping his length in her palm – his fingers slip between her thighs, touching her underwear, playing steady spirals against thin fabric making her toes curl, one foot slipping out of a dainty gold shoe. She remembers their first time, how he’d looked at her in the dim light of her bedroom and how he’d fumbled, unsure – how they’d both fumbled – it had been sweet, but Iris likes the confidence Barry has picked up since. She likes the sureness in the rub of his thumb against her, dropping his face to her neck, kissing, sucking, scraping his teeth against her skin just enough so she can feel it, making her sigh and squirm and push back against the steady friction of his thumb.

She likes the look in his eye when he glances up from her neck, sucking in air, his gaze darkening, his wet mouth red, lips parted, the anticipation and the need playing across his features.

He edges her panties aside with a finger and slips another inside and Iris bites down on her bottom lip as he flicks over hot, sticky folds of skin. “Ready?” His voice is rough, his breath a little shallow.

More than ready. Iris shifts, grasps his wrist to direct his fingers so he can _feel_ her – Jesus – his thumb slips just inside her and she has to stop herself moaning, loudly – what if someone comes in? What if someone passes too close by the door outside and hears something –

Barry is already pulling his hand away, pushing forward with his hips, teasing. And god he feels like home, and she needs him, now, immediately, safe inside her.

She pushes the edge of her panties to one side with her fingers, guiding him into her with her other hand as he clutches her hips, his grip trembling – he eases inside her, slow and steady because anything else will have them both making too much noise for this location. Even so his pace is agonising, fills Iris up with white hot sunshine, her vision going blurry, her breath harsh in her chest – she catches at Barry’s mouth with her own, slicks his lips with her tongue, holds him tight as he bottoms out inside her with a low, guttural moan.

“ _Iris_.” Her name comes out through his gritted teeth and it sounds like home. She can feel him shaking, knows he’ll start vibrating if she lets him and if he does that the noise she’ll make – they’ll hear her all the way to Starling and back.

“Barry,” She clutches the back of his neck, “Barry, shhh.”

He rocks forward, just a little, and she has to stifle a whine – the kind she knows drives him crazy. He likes hearing her, he’s liked it from the start, the first time he went down on her, sucking and kissing and tasting, exploring with all the eager diligence of his gorgeous scientific brain and afterward she’d apologised, embarrassed, about exactly how loudly she’d bounced his name off the walls. And he’d only grinned at her. (“My name has never sounded that good, Iris, I swear to god.”)

“After we’re done here,” he murmurs against her ear, “we’re going somewhere you can scream.”

She wraps her legs around his waist, locking him in place. “That a promise?” Her voice shakes but her eyes are clear, mouth twisting into a quick smile.

“God yeah,” Barry’s voice is a breathy mumble as Iris rocks against him and his eyes flutter shut for a second, jaw clenching.

Iris wraps her arms around his shoulders, bringing their faces almost level as she guides his head down to hers. They stay like that for a second, wrapped up in each other, breath mingling, foreheads touching, Iris’s eyelashes casting long shadows down Barry’s cheeks where his bruise has faded to the colour of pressed cherry blossom.

Even with their clothes mostly still on they can get like this, as intimately entwined as it’s possible to be, the whole world shut out beyond the doors of this room, and it’s comforting, somehow. No one else can touch this, no matter what tries to take Barry from her, Iris thinks – there will be no taking these moments, when he’s inside her, when they are whole together, joined, safe, home, the pleasure all-consuming, the world shrunk to non-existence outside of the sphere of each other’s arms.

She brushes her mouth to his and Barry responds with a gentle kiss, and then another, slow and sweet – and then he begins to move, like a tide turning, and she moves with him.

He rocks on his feet and she rolls her hips and they slip into a familiar rhythm, careful but sure, steady. Barry can’t thrust hard or they’ll get too noisy so he compensates by – damn – _grinding_ – a steady circling and pushing of his hips that is _so good_ , Iris almost can’t stand it. She gasps and shudders and meets each of his movements with her own equal and opposite, biting her lip, pressing her face to his neck even as he stutters and grunts and tries to contain his rumbling groans of pleasure.

Iris grips one of his hips so hard she’s certain she’ll bruise him (and she’s distantly disappointed that he’ll heal so fast the marks will probably be gone before she has a real chance to look at them). He picks up the pace, obediently, and the table creaks beneath her and Iris doesn’t care. The little guttural noises they’re both making, alongside the rhythmic rub of their clothes and the obscene, moist sounds that are coming from where they’re joined are all a pleasant buzz, heady, but good.

Iris looks into Barry’s face, his eyes heavy-lidded, his brow lined with concentration even as his lips quirk, the tip of his tongue darting out – his good, sweet face, so familiar – Iris kisses the edge of his bruise (it’s almost pink now), and feels him smile his giddy smile.

“I – ” the words are rough on his tongue, “I love you, Iris. I love – you – so much, god – god, you’re so beautiful, I can’t – I can’t believe – ”

And “ _Barry_ ,” she wants to reply, say something, tell him something, but she can’t get it out, the emotion, the sensation, is too big for words.

His fingers are between them, hand low, palm pressing against her clit and just for a second the tremble running through him – all that power, all that speed – meets the surface of his hand and meets the most sensitive part of her flesh and she has to bury a scream in his shoulder as she flies apart, the orgasm insurmountable, whipping her up high and leaving her there to tumble artlessly back to earth. Barry shakes through his own a moment later, groaning her name – groaning how much he loves her, over and over into her ear, and this, Iris thinks, is worth infinitely more than any award.

For a moment there’s only them and the stillness, mouths brushing, breath steadying.

Then.

“The dress!” Iris squirms, easing back off Barry who – bless him – is suddenly handing her a wad of tissues.

“Men’s room,” he tells her, with a sheepish smile. “It’s just across the hall, so.”

Iris presses them between her legs, slides off the table and, giving up any pretence of dignity, steps out of her remaining shoe and slides her panties off. Barry is already tidying himself up, although his hair has been raked sideways and her foundation is all over his face.

“It’d be gross to have to wear them for the rest of the night anyway,” she hands her underwear to Barry who can’t contain himself, giggles like a middle schooler and then stuffs them into the pocket of his pants.

“If I can’t keep the dress, can I keep your panties?” He asks, and she swats at him, full of lazy affection.

“I’ve got nicer ones at home. You’ve seen them.”

“And I appreciate all of them. They do great work.”

Iris laughs, softly, as Barry pulls her into a gentle embrace. She leans into it, into the familiarity of him. The post-coital warmth in her bones makes her want to crawl back home and into bed so that he can peel this ridiculous dress off her, and they can cuddle properly, and then maybe go for a lazier round two now the immediate edge of the day has been taken off. Maybe he can make good on that thing about the screaming.

But she’s probably got at least an hour of small talk to make and tiny canapes to eat before she can politely leave.

“Get me somewhere with a mirror so I can – ” she waves in the general direction of her face.

And practically before she can breathe she’s in a small bathroom that looks like someone’s office en suit.

“We’re a few floors up from the party, no one’s coming in here,” Barry promises, and Iris gives his arm a pat.

“You’re so good.”

“I try.” He’s brought the award, and sets it by the sink as she begins to fix her makeup. “That thing’s heavier than it looks. You took a chip out of it when you dropped it, though.”

Just a small chip, out of the back of one corner. “I’m gonna put it in the bathroom,” Iris declares and Barry laughs, and stands obediently still whilst she sponges her lipstick off his jaw.  

The last of his bruise fades into non-existence beneath her fingertips, his face unmarked again – she kisses where it was for good measure anyway, and he slips an arm around her waist and holds her tight for a moment longer.


End file.
